


If You Love Me

by AFishNamedSushi



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Gen, Horror, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 13:22:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11336373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFishNamedSushi/pseuds/AFishNamedSushi
Summary: And if they get me, and the sun goes down...





	If You Love Me

**NOW - STEVE**

 

The voice in his ear is telling him that he needs to get out of here.

The comm crackles and hisses, causing Steve to shake his head, a sharp motion from side to side that makes his eyes blur. The hallway ahead of him is deathly silent, completely darks but for the faint sparks of a single flickering overhead light half hanging by a distended cord from the ceiling. He raises his arms up higher, the thin red beam of a UV laser sight from his pistol-mounted scope dotting over the floor by his feet - strewn with detritus, old clothes and shoes, broken bottles and rotting garbage piled up outside various apartment doors - and carefully steps his heavy boots through the muck.

" _Steve, I'm serious_." The voice in his ear sounds really irritable, well past moved on from firm insistence to genuine annoyance. " _There are at least four red spots on radar, and since we have no idea what kind of Nest this is -_ "

"I can handle it."

"- _I can't guarantee that you won't be spending the rest of your night riding in the backseat of a hearse_ ," the voice finishes, talking over him like he hadn't even spoken. " _Because you'll be dead, Steve. Dead_."

Steve doesn't quite roll his eyes, but it's a near thing.

"I can handle it," he says again.

There's a gusty huff across the comm. Steve has to tilt his head again to counter the hiss of it. Their equipment may be top-notch, considering the availability of what's around - some old ear buds paired with a clip microphone and GPS tracker that acts as a two-way walkie-talkie of sorts - but it's still a pain in the ass trying to find anything that one hundred percent won't fizzle out on them at the last second, or if it's exposed to such radical elements as a particularly rainy day.

"Tony," Steve sighs, whisper quiet in the dark.

" _If you say what I think you're going to say one more time, I swear to all that is holy, Steven Grant Rogers, that I will find a way to end you_."

Wouldn't that be a kicker, Steve thinks and can't help the small smile that steals over his face.

There's silence for a few long moments while Steve picks his way carefully across the hall. Their intel said there were at least five or six _Lamia_ in an abandoned apartment building in Harlem, holed up for the past few days. The concept is a terrifying one. Last time he checked, this entire neighborhood had been swept so thoroughly that not even a family of rats could get it without SHIELD knowing it. If only one _Lamia_ managed to get through Fury's tight web of control, let alone enough of them to set up a Nest, that means all their assurances about the rest of Manhattan being monster-free are utterly worthless. 

Steve doesn't know who the source of this supposed intel is - something he would have insisted knowing once upon a time, when the world was good and he was in charge and had his own unit and gave a shit about anything other than killing monsters.  But being a hired gun at the end of the world means you don't get to ask those kinds of questions, and the threat of a Nest is worth checking out no matter how slim the chance it may be true.

Steve continues on slowly, eyes trained sharply on the shadows to spot any sudden movement.

There's nothing, not even the sound of displaced currents from an air conditioning unit, nor the subtle vibrations of an elevator ferrying people to and fro on the lower floors. This building really is well and truly abandoned. Each floor he’s already passed through has revealed nothing but more of the things people left behind in their rush to evacuate the city.

His uniform, a pair of thick black Kevlar coated pants and molded body armor, sticks uncomfortably to his back. A bead of sweat rolls its way down his neck.

When he reaches the end of the hall, he holds his breath and does an abrupt spin in the opposite direction, sighting down his pistol over his shoulder before he's even completed the turn. _Lamia_ are fans of the sneak-and-pounce; they love to stalk their prey for a good while, until they've quite literally backed themselves into a corner, before they attack.

He breathes out. Still alone.

Using the hand not holding the pistol, Steve gives two taps to the comm unit, waits a beat, then taps twice again.

" _Clear_ ," Tony's voice acknowledges gruffly. Steve's never met anyone before who manages to sound so troubled using just one-syllable words.  " _Time to call it quits? Yeah? There’s only two hours before sundown._ "

Steve hums in consideration, turning around again to face to end of the hall, and the slightly less-black looking rectangle that indicates, though it's barely visible in the dark, that he's in right in front of the door to the stairwell. He runs his free hand over the wall next to it, feeling out for the bumps on the braille signage.

Tenth floor. The building floor plan in the Lobby said roof access is right after the eleventh.

"Sure," he says. He waits for the indrawn breath before he adds, “after I check the next floor.”

He can literally hear Tony grinding his teeth.

He climbs the stairs with the same slow and careful methodology as before, eyes trained downward to watch his feet as they ascend the steps. There’s some more debris piled up along the initial ascent, almost as if the building's former residents made one last-ditch attempt at assembling a barricade that didn’t quite stand up to snuff. The  complete and total silence is magnified tenfold inside the stairwell, and though he can't see the walls bracketing him on either side, the effect of them pressing in and suffocating is there nevertheless.  He almost can't contain his sigh of relief when he finally reaches the top, his hand outstretched to feel for the handle -

It's wrenched right out of his grip and he's pulled forward by an iron-hot hand wrapped around his wrist. There's a startled grunt which he only later realizes - when he's face to face with one of the biggest and nastiest looking _Lamia_ he's ever seen, when it has its claws rammed into his neck and it's fangs in his arm - must have come from him.

" _Steve?_ " Tony prompts anxiously.

Steve wonders, with the loose detachment that only comes with having your blood slowly sucked out of your body, just how much of what's happening Tony can hear.

Just as he's thought of it he hears it for himself, the noises surpassing the quiet like the loudest of blaring alarms; the rhythmic sound of swallowing, of gurgling liquid-filled breaths as they're forced out of his throat; a gentle and persistent growl not unlike a cat's purring as the _Lamia_ tightens its hold on his neck, pleased and satiated, its sharp talons digging in and holding him quite effectively prisoner.

When the _Lamia_ was human, it - or he - would have made a formidable opponent for anyone who dared try and cross him. He's taller than Steve, who is six two, and probably outweighs him by a good fifty or so pounds. Given that the last time Steve had a weight check he clocked in at two-seventy-five, there is a considerable amount of curiosity as to how someone so _big_ could have been overpowered enough by a _Lamia_ to become turned.

Unless, of course, he was a willing convert. Steve tries to not think about those kinds of cases too much. They make it harder for him to kill the beast, as it were; the knowledge that any free will at all went into the creation of the monster that is still valiantly trying to drain his soul out of his body through his wrist. 

Speaking of, it's been a good long and drawn out forty-five seconds and he's still not dead. Too bad being an undead monster with superhuman strength doesn't also give you enhanced powers of observation, because by now any predator worth its salt would have realized that this particular prey isn't quite like any other.

Gathering his wits back to himself, Steve uses his free arm and grasps the _Lamia_ by the wrist of the hand currently impaling his neck. It's so thick that his fingers don't even meet when they close around it.

Using all his strength, which is considerably more than the _Lamia's_ , Steve bends back the arm with an extremely loud CRACK!

_"Steve!"_

Ah damn, Tony sounds absolutely panicked now.

"One sec," Steve says through gritted teeth.

In its surprise the _Lamia's_ teeth have thankfully left his wrist, allowing him to bring up his other hand and place them on the meaty place where the once-man's neck meets the shoulder. Close as they are like this, Steve can just make out his facial features: smooth copper skin, sharp nose and high cheekbones. Very attractive, if you can ignore the bloodstained teeth and pitch-black eyes that stare right through you.

"Sorry," he murmurs to the _Lamia_. The creature's mouth is still hanging open, bits of skin from Steve's wrist hanging off its lips, blood pooled at the corner of its mouth and dropping down its chin. With a tightening of his fists and a movement so quick it belies the complexity, Steve twists his hands - one on the temple and the other on the jaw - and snaps its neck.

The _Lamia_ makes a hissing sound and falls to the floor. Its body lies still.

Steve stands there as silence falls once more, sounding for all the world like it was never even broken to begin with. He doesn't even realize his breathing is rough until it finally settles and he can distinguish the slowing beats of his heart from the sound of shuffling in his ears.

"Tony?" he says tentatively.

There's no response.

Steve sighs. He wipes his hand, sticky and wet and covered in his own blood thanks to the _Lamia_ , on his pants. "Tony, please -"

" _Don't you even fucking start with me right now,_ " is the growled response he receives. Tony's voice is barely audible over the tinny connection and it sounds like he's on the move.

Steve finds himself tensing. "What are you doing?"

It would be just like Tony to sneak out of HQ, hotwire a car, and march his ass down to where Steve is just to simultaneously prove a point and get himself killed.

“ _I’m taking a break!_ ” Tony says – shouts really, right in Steve’s ear, thanks. “ _Am I not allowed to do that? I’ve been in Monitoring for twelve fucking hours and since I don’t even get_ paid _to do this, I think I’ve earned the right to get up and walk around whenever I fucking feel like it!_ ”

Tony sounds angrier than Steve’s heard him in long, long time. He doesn’t think it’s worth pointing out that underneath all the swearing and the yelling he can hear the minute variances of pitch in Tony’s voice that indicate he’s upset, yes, but more scared than anything. Tony doesn't like it when Steve points out how thin the veil really is between how he acts and how he feels, and that Steve can usually see right through it. Now especially would not be a good time for Steve to remind Tony of his particular...uniqueness. 

He clears his throat and says evenly, “I’m going to sweep the eleventh floor. After this, I’m done, okay?”

There's a long beat where Tony just mutters harshly and doesn't respond.

“ _Whatever,_ ” he eventually says.

In those days after he first met Tony, right after the world went to hell, Steve would have immediately bristled at the caustic and uncaring tone. But as they say, time is the healer of all wounds, and a mutual saving of each other’s lives on more than one occasion has since taught Steve that, for Tony, actions speak much louder than words. So Tony may be upset and may have, quite literally, abandoned his post to storm out of Monitoring in a huff, but he also took his comm with him when he did. He’s still in Steve’s ear.

Steve points his UV laser-sight down the dark expansive hallway ahead of him. Unlike the previous floor it doesn’t snag on anything. It’s just as well. If the floor’s clear, he can get through it faster and get out. 

He starts the slow journey across, pistol raised and breathing controlled. His neck is throbbing from where the _Lamia’s_ claws dug in, but even now he can feel the skin knitting itself back together. His wrist is the same way; the puncture holes from the _Lamia’s_ teeth are all but scabbed over. In a half hour, the only evidence of the attack will be what it always is: blood on his uniform but no wounds to show for it. And as always, the only people who will know that it’s Steve’s blood and not a _Lamia’s_ are him and Tony.

He’s halfway down the hall when Tony says, “ _There’s a red dot right on top of you._ ”

Steve halts. “There is?” He spins in a circle and kicks out lightly with his boots, searching the space around him, but finds nothing but empty air. “I don’t see anything.”

“ _I’m looking right at it,_ ” Tony says.

“There’s nothing here.”

“ _You should be faceful of undead ugly right now._ ”

“Well, I’m not.”

Steve can imagine the look on Tony’s face, drawn brows and scowl firmly fixed in place. If there’s one thing Tony dislikes more than listening to the more gory broadcasts of Steve’s exploits, it’s when their equipment – especially the units he himself helped to build – go wrong. 

“ _Give me a minute._ ”

“Take your time.” Steve lowers his gun and stretches his arms above his head. The uniform isn’t exactly heavy, not for him, but it still leaves much to be desired in the comfort department. "S'not like I've got anything else going on.”

Tony snorts and Steve can hear the rapid-fire clack of fingers on a keyboard. He must have gone back to Monitoring then, or to his own private workshop he built in a blind spot off HQ’s security network that nobody but Steve knows about.

Steve runs his free hand absently over his neck, pressing his fingers against the four freshly gouged inch-long cuts that run from shoulder to ear on his left side. The skin feels sticky and cold, like filmed over liquid left out for too long.

Ugh. Nasty.

He hesitates, a beat no longer than the span of one heartbeat, but significant nonetheless.  He moves his hand to his right side. Below the neckline of his uniform, just above the dip of his collarbone, in an area roughly the size of the palm of his hand, are two raised lumps of scar tissue. Under a light they're shiny and pink, long since scabbed over and healed. His wrist flexes with the memory of the _Lamia's_ teeth.

The comm crackles and he flinches, quickly removing his hand as if burned. 

He knows immediately that something’s wrong by the sound of Tony’s breathing.

Instinctively, his fingers tighten around the hilt of his pistol.

“Tony?” He finds himself whispering. It sounds both too quiet for the comm to pick up and like he’s shouting at the same time.

“ _I’m...I’m sorry, Steve._ ”

Steve’s heartrate starts to increase, his chest clenching with anticipation. “Tony, what –“

“ _I don’t know how...God, I have no idea how they did it, I didn’t even know they_ could _do it, but...they, the Lamia, they tricked us, Steve. Tricked_ me _. I’m so sorry -”_

What are you talking about?

It’s on the tip of Steve’s tongue to ask, but he finds at that moment he doesn’t need to., because with a startling clarity he knows. The red dots, HQ's radar showing a Nest that appeared without warning in a completely clean neighborhood.

The _Lamia_ that attacked him didn’t show up. Tony's watching his back and he was just as surprised.

And the one, the red dot, that's supposed to be here...

Steve knows it’s behind him before he even turns around. Sometimes even he, a man who has killed so many _Lamia_ that he’s lost count, forgets for a moment about the other direction they can go.

He closes his eyes and swallows.  The pistol's UV beam skirts across the wall and comes to rest on the ceiling.

It drops down and lands right in front of him.

This _Lamia_ was once a young man. His hair is long and obscures his face, falling in ratted tangles down to his shoulders. His clothes, a pair of jeans riding low on his bony hips and a too-big shirt with the word ARMY stamped across it, are dirty and torn. The creature takes a step forward, cocking his head to the side an emitting a curious-sounding hum like a trilling bird.

“ _It’s a trap_ ,” Tony finishes breathlessly. He sounds wrecked, like he might be crying.

“I know,” Steve says softly. “It’s okay, Tony.”

The _Lamia_ makes another humming sound, though this one sounds frighteningly more human. Amused. It tilts its head back and the hair falls out of its eyes. Even in the dark, Steve can almost see a flash of pale blue in those black eyes, the familiar cleft of a well-defined chin as the _Lamia_ smiles widely to reveal to perfectly pointed teeth.

Steve swallows tightly, but his hand doesn’t shake as he reaches up to remove the comm from his ear. It falls to the floor and is easily crushed under his boot.

He doesn’t want Tony to hear this.

He squares his shoulders, ignoring the way the _Lamia's_ eyes track the movement.

"Hey, Buck,” he says.  

He can’t defend himself against this one.

 


End file.
